Curing a case of Boredom
by delicate-matters
Summary: "Sherlock-" "I'm bored John, BORED!" Sherlock jumped from his seat and began to pace. "have you brought me a case? Let me guess three men murdered all in the same hotel. NO. A woman found alive after being execute. NO.


BANG BANG BANG

The door to 221B Baker Street opened with a flash and a very worried doctor stepped through. He was a tad on the short side with soft grey/blonde hair and was carrying four bags of groceries. His name was Watson, John Watson; ex-army soldier-medic.

Upon hearing the door a frail old lady emerged from the door to the left. She looked terrified and worried to the bone. She adorned her usual gear, a knee length pleated skirt and matching jacket with a white shirt. Her name Hudson, Ms. Hudson; landlady of 221B Baker Street, not the housekeeper.

"Oh John thank god your here. Sherlock is... well being Sherlock."

"Oh God. Don't worry Ms. Hudson I think I have the perfect distraction, well if I'm not killed before I have a chance to speak. I thought I hid the damned gun." John glanced at Ms. Hudson's fac, he wrinkles were etched with worry. John coughed as if to clear the tension. "It's only Sherlock you know, you needn't worry so much"

Confusion flashed across her face, "Worry about Sherlock, ha! It's my bleeding wall I'm worried about! He's going to blow it up! Do you know John Hamish Watson how much _wall replacements_ cost?"

"No?"

"A lot, more than both of you earn, so I suggest you hurry up there and put stop to hi-"

BANG BANG BANG

"Point taken. Oh and Ms. Hudson would you mind putting these in the fridge for me later don't want the groceries getting caught in the crossfire."

With that John ditched the groceries and made his way up the stairs in order to face his crazy/bored flatmate.

"I'm not your housekeeper" Ms. Hudson's words bounced off the walls following John up the stairs.

* * *

><p>BANG BANG BANG<p>

John waited for a second before opening the door loudly, hopefully catching the psychopath's attention. Upon opening the door he revealed a tall, pasty man with curly black hair, wrapped in a sheet, gun in hand firing at a smiley face on the wall. This man's name was Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes; consulting Detective, sociopath not psychopath (contrary to popular belief).

"Sherlock"

BANG

"sherLOCK"

BANG

"SHERLOCK, PUT THE GUN DOWN"

"John?" The fire ceased "where's the groceries? I thought you went shopping." Sherlock quickly examined John, He looked angry. Had he brought a new case. Cases were much more interesting than groceries. He wasn't hungry. "Did you have another argument with an automatic pay machine?"

"Sherlock-"

"I'm bored John, BORED!" Sherlock jumped from his seat and began to pace. "have you brought me a case? Let me guess three men murdered all in the same hotel. NO. A woman found alive after being execute. NO. Random bombings around London, terrorists suspected but we all know that's not true"

John watched as Sherlock continued to speculate about what he would be solving next. The man was such a mystery to him, how one could be so happy over a murder, the notion was insane. Yet this is where he lived, him and his Detective/Sociopath Flatmate. The pacing suddenly became faster and more irritable; John knew he needed to think of something soon. He didn't think the wall could take much more "boredom". That's when _That place _popped into his head.

_Maybe, _he thought, _maybe that place can offer sufficient enough of a distraction to satiate his boredom. But knowing Sherlock he won't go if I tell him what it is. Damn I'm going to have to trick him. _

"Sherlock"

The man continued pacing, and the doctor waited patiently.

"Sherlock"

"Or maybe- Yes John?" Sherlock looked slightly irritated, John had interrupted him just as he was beginning to feel something other than boredom.

"I have a... err... surprise (?) For you"

At this Sherlock's head snapped right up and his eyes bore into John's. The doctor would always be a mystery to Sherlock. Just when he thought he had the man figured out, boom, something new would appear. But one thing would never change, John was an awful liar, but Sherlock would play along out of curiosity.

"Where?"

"Err. What?" John began to shift uncomfortably.

"Where is my surprise?"

John giggled internally, Sherlock sounded like a 5 year old, how cute.

"Ummm... get dressed, then ummm follow me?"

Sherlock shot john a sceptical look before dropping his sheets entirely and stalking off to his bedroom.

_Oh god,_ John thought, _this is going to be a long evening._

* * *

><p>"John, where are we going?"<p>

"Look we are almost there, just be patient"

"Almost there? Wait- almost there..."

John glanced back at his companion praying to god he hadn't figured it out. He picked up the walking pace, one minute more.

"No. John. I refuse. I shall not participate in such a thing with you" Sherlock's face almost looked shocked. He had definitely not seen this coming.

"Sherlock, its fun, trust me I've done it plenty of times."

"No."

_God, this man can be stubborn. _"Have you never done it before?"

Sherlock pulled a sour face and began to walk away. "Never. And I don't plan on it. My work is all the _fun _I need."

"You know, I bet you're just _scared_ I will beat you." John's face became occupied with a smug grin as Sherlock stood still and slowly turned back around. He knew exactly how to push all of the detectives buttons, one of the only advantages to living with him.

"Right, bowling it is then, one game." Sherlock charged in the direction of the bowling alley, only slowing down to say: "And by the way, there is nothing you can beat me at John"

* * *

><p>A big cross flashed across the screen. STRIKE.<p>

_Unbelievable, _thought Sherlock, _This man is full of surprises. On his first bowl as well. He wasn't lying when he said he came here a lot then. Interesting. Mind you nothing I can't beat. _Sherlock gazed at his flatmate giving a victory dance; he allowed himself a small smile and chuckle at the display of cuteness.

But laughs aside it was his turn, the whole game was new to him and quite frankly he didn't see the point in it. John had said it was for fun. But Sherlock did not comprehend how knocking pins down could stimulate endorphins and other chemicals in the brain allowing one to feel pleasure, or fun as those of average intelligence call it. He took a ball and analysed the lane. Calculations flew around in his head, locating the exact pressure and angle needed to knock down all pins in one go. -

"Sherlock, just throw the damn thing. You have been standing there for five minutes. It's a game not a crime scene."

As if on cue Sherlock bowled the ball and seconds later a big red cross flashed across the screen. STRIKE. Sherlock turned around smug, and noticed the slight sigh and narrowing of John's eyes.

_Ha, _he thought, _let the game begin._

* * *

><p>It was the last round the scoreboard read full strikes for both men. John stepped up to the lane sweat dripping from his brow; one mistake could cost him the game. He carefully selected his ball breathed slowly, took a slight run and let go of the ball. STRIKE!<p>

_Yes, _John thought, _this was it. He could win. Must concentrate, must concentrate. Can't lose focus._

He selected his second ball, took a small sprint and let go of the ball. Too much curve. The ball swayed to the right just an inch of target. John closed his eyes. The screen flashed a big, red... Nine. He bowled his last ball scoring him a spare and turned back to Sherlock.

_I've lost, this was my chance to beat him and I screwed up. _John glanced at Sherlock, he was staring at the screen smug. John couldn't help the edge of his lip turning up. _As long as he is not bored. He is so damn competitive. _

_Ha, _thought Sherlock, _I am going to wi-"_

Sherlock's eyes strayed from the screen and met Johns. The doctor looked like a sad puppy and Sherlock felt a slight twinge. Ignoring it, he stood up and made his way towards the lane passing John.

With his ball in hand Sherlock began to calculate, but all he could think of was John's sad eyes and before he knew it he had taken a stride and let go of the ball. STRIKE. Images of John's eyes flooded Sherlock's head, and once again before he could calculate anything he had swung his arm and released the spherical object. NINE. He risked a glance back at John, only to reveal the doctor looking at the screen with wide eyes in surprise, not smugness. And in his eyes Sherlock saw hope.

His heart beat loudly; he was surprised by the strange feeling and the loudness of his heart that had happened as a consequence of John's puppy-like face. Being utterly distracted as he rolled the ball for the third and last time, he was not surprised when the screen showed a big red zero.

John had won. He leaped from his chair, hand covering his mouth. He was speechless. He john had won against Sherlock, world's greatest mind. This was going on his blog. He looked at Sherlock who was smiling, genuinely smiling and John smiled back. He felt butterflies in his stomach.

"You won, well done"

"Yeah, I guess this means I come here way too much"

At that both men burst out into laughter, the warm sound of each other's joy reminded them both of the relationship they shared and in that instant Sherlock took one stride and wrapped his hands around john's waist and pulled him close.

"Well done" he whispered into John's ear, sending shivers down both their backs. Time froze momentarily as both stood in a hug puzzled by the contact. Before either could deduce the source of the shivers and butterflies. Sherlock released John and stepped back.

"Well, I want a re-match; obviously I'm coming down with something."

"No excuses, you lost to me fair and square."

"No I am at a temporary disadvantage"

"Sherlock..."

"A momentary lapse"

"Sherlock..."

"A provisional error"

"SHERLOCK"

"Yes?"

"Best out of three?"

"Deal!"

_I think I'm beginning to understand the concept of this game, _thought Sherlock as he watched John go pay for another game, _not fun, no. It is to bring people closer, interesting. Well at least I'm no longer bored. _

Sherlock grinned to himself wondering how many times exactly John had come here... _Well from the slight twitch of his left wrist I can estimate..._


End file.
